


Fifth Year

by writervid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writervid/pseuds/writervid
Summary: a plan or two, a quidditch game or three, and a trio:a lost boy, a girl with too much mind and too little time, and the one who never gets what he wants.(plus the one who keeps getting in the way)





	1. Prologue: Letters

_ Dear Oliver, _

_ I know things are awkward between us now. But I don't see the need to be unfriendly when we have three more years in the same dormitory. How are you?  What are you doing for your holiday? Did you get Quidditch captain? _

_ Signed, _

_ Percival Ignatius Weasley _

_ Future Minister of Magic _

 

_ Dear Chris, _

_ Well, this summer has been going rather terribly for me, but let's not dwell on that. How are you? What's been going on in the Atwater Realm? Please tell me everything! Also, would you be up for meeting at Flourish and Blotts anytime soon? _

_ Send Penny my hellos, will you? I know you're seeing her sometime around now.   _

_ the roommate you were subjected to and somehow became friends with, _

_ Percival Ignatius Weasley _

_ Future Minister of Magic _

 

_ Dear Penny, _

_ Hello and all that blather, I suppose. How are you? Have you gotten your letter yet? How disastrous are the wedding and the Holyhead Harpies this season? _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Percival Ignatius Weasley _

_ Future Minister of Magic _

 

_ Hullo, Percy! I'm not one for long letters, which you knew, so I'll keep this short. _

_ I'm doing fine this summer, thank you for asking. Timothy Blenkinsop is at the wedding, so we'll see what comes of that.  I haven't gotten my letter yet, and Chris has, so I'm hoping I'm a prefect. I know most of the other Ravenclaw girls have gotten theirs, so there's a high chance. I'm assuming you're waiting for your badge as well, which you'll undoubtedly get. How are you doing, outside of that? Prepping for the O.W.L’s? You're already top of our year, you know. You'll do great. _

_ -Penny _

 

_ Hiya, Perce! Merry greetings from Diagon Alley. From Florean Fortescue’s, actually, but that's still in Diagon Alley. Oh, well. I was having a vanilla ice cream with hazelnut and caramel topping and stopped halfway through because I thought of you. It's like your personality in ice cream. If ice cream were serious, that is. But it's such a positively brilliant thing I couldn't mention it. What do you think my ice cream personality would be? Pen would probably be mint chocolate chip with marshmallow topping, but I can't for the life of me think what ice cream could be as splendid and dynamic as I am, so please write back with your thoughts! _

_ Anyway, in this past week I've been reading up on Quidditch and music. I plan to join the frog choir and quidditch teams next year, and you may laugh, but this year I'll actually get in! Don't you think I'd make a splendid seeker? Your older brother’s done with his time at Hogwarts, and there are no really decent third or fourth years that aren’t on the team, so there's a good chance! As for frog choir, you're looking at a new bass voice! Flitwick needs me; I'll convince him.  _

_ I'm just about to head off and meet Pen (who said she'd meet me at 3, and it's 2:54 as I write this and finish off your personality ice cream). She said we should get our books together and discuss, which I'm assuming means she got Ravenclaw prefect and that this isn't a date (but a Chris can hope), but I'm still honored that she thought of me at all. Did you get prefect? Did Wood get Quidditch captain? Well, I could owl Wood myself but I'm far too lazy. I'm assuming you both got the position, anyway, as you're top of our year and he's top of our...Quidditch? _

_ Ah, fifth year is looking splendid so far. And if you bring up the plan in  _ another  _ letter I will force fun down your throat. _

_ The best roommate ever, _

_ Chris _

 

_ Dear Chris, _

_ That may have been the most newsy letter I've ever received. Which is, as you'd call it, “brill”. (Also, am I really vanilla? I thought I'd be chocolate chip cookie dough with no topping.) I think you might be strawberry, or lemon, or even black raspberry. We should ask Penny, though I'm sure you already have.  _

_ Good luck on the Quidditch front--Oliver’s been too busy with it to even write me a letter back. Which, altogether, isn't unexpected, especially if he got captain. Just tiresome. Also, frog choir? Really? I thought you were over that in third year. Ah well, good luck, just please don't go on that kick where you criticise my singing in the shower again.  _

_ I hope you had a wonderful time in Diagon Alley. In the meantime, the Terrible Two are pretty much throwing every terrible thing my way. Mocking you, rigged Quidditch, mocking me, stealing Erroll and letters...the list goes on. When I'm a prefect in  _ my _ school they'll shut up. (Or else.) _

_ I guess I won't mention the plan, but if you could send some fun my way I'd appreciate it. I can't even study anymore, and I just can't wait to get back to Hogwarts. _

_ the roommate you were subjected to and somehow became friends with, _

_ Percival Ignatius Weasley _

_ Future Minister of Magic _

 

_ Mr. Percival Weasley, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as the Gryffindor prefect. _

_ Regards, _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

_ Supreme Mugwump _ _ of the International Confederation of Wizards, and  _ _ Chief Warlock _ _ of the Wizengamot _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, loves, and merry Christmas if you celebrate! I'll be trying to keep an update schedule of every week or so. Be sure to leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed! <3 I'll see you next week! -Anna


	2. 1: On the Hogwarts Express

The Hogwarts Express wasn't an ideal place for trysts and meetings, but they certainly happened on the train ride of 1991. "Hullo, Chris," Percy said, entering his and his roommate's usual compartment with a smirk playing on his face. 

The brown, bespectacled boy looked up from the rather tattered copy of  _ The Daily Prophet.  _ "What's got you going crazy?"

Normally, the redhead would have been more than slightly disconcerted about the lack of regular greeting, but he had just been what his friend would call “grievously insulted”. Percy angled his chest so that his prefect's badge could catch the glare a bit better, and brought his new owl--Hermes-- to attention. 

Chris snorted. "Well, it's not like I didn't expect that, and you didn't, either. I figured that was why you were late--though I'm shocked you didn't spend more time in the prefect's cabin."

Percy shrugged, though the reason was because the Head Boy had called him a prat to his face just a few minutes earlier and not even he would stay in the same room with such a prig. "Does it matter? The point is I'm here with you for the last leg of our trip." 

Over the four years of their friendship, Chris had learned that Percy Weasley was a vault when it came to matters of the heart--or any emotion, truly--so perhaps that was why he avoided the topic and the dejected tone. "Why are you really so smug, though? You look like Marcus Flint did after he rigged up the Quaffles last year during the Quidditch final so they'd just fly through Gryffindor's goals."

Percy's lips forced themselves into a grimace. Who would have thought that the promise he had made last year would be put into effect so soon? Merlin, the day was not turning out pleasant. "He's such an idiot. But...you know what year it is?"

"1991, which means...? Oh! Ron."

"Exactly! Which again means..."

"Fred and George are out of our hair for once?" Chris made a point to flip his head from side to side. "Our fabulous, fabulous hair?"

Percy sat down. "For now, at least. I would bet a  _ whole galleon _ that they'll be back to their stupid ways by the time we get to Hogwarts. At the very least, the Terrible Two will lie low on the train; Mum wanted them to watch Ron." Which would be a welcome difference from the usual explosives and the like. He wondered what that wretched Head Boy would say about Fred and George... maybe that was why Percy was such a "prat", his exhausting brothers, and _ someone _ in their family had to have morals...

Chris' voice jolted Percy out of his self-pitying reverie. "Splendid. So, how was your holiday?"

"Terrible, but you knew that. How was yours?"

"You shouldn’t bash your family so often, Perce. You might need them.” Chris leaned back, and Percy rolled his eyes. They’d had this conversation before, and having it again wasn’t going to change anything. “Better than I expected. Pen and I got together a lot, which was brill."

There was no point in beating around the bush, and maybe some of Chris' gushing would help get his mind off of the prat comment. "Do you still like her?"

Chris gave him an exasperated look. "Of course I do, she's splendid and gorgeous, and have you noticed the way her hair falls around her face? Oh, and her eyes...And she's fabulously witty, too! She made the funniest joke the other day, about how the Leaky Cauldron got its name...oh! That reminds me." Chris stood up and began to dig through his trunk, which, at the moment, lived in the cargo hold above their heads. "She gave me an idea."

"You always get  _ ideas  _ around Penny, most of which are unsavory and not for my delicate ears."

"Your ears weren't so delicate last year when you told Oliver Wood to stuff it with a bunch of brilliant cusses when he told you to go to sleep at 2 AM."

Heat crawled up Percy's cheeks. "That was different--"

"Aha!" Chris bounded down with a slim, blue book in hand. "It's a list of resolutions."

"And Penny believes in this?"

"...maybe not as much as I do."

"She  _ is _ too sensible for that."

"Just close your eyes, flip through, and point to a spot on the page."

Percy did as asked, opening his eyes to read the fine print. "Break out of your shell; once the cracks are worn through; you'll find your light; will bring others closer to you." He looked at his friend. "What does it mean?"

"Be more social." Chris snatched the book from his hand, which was starting to shake. Be more  _ social? _  How could he be social when the person he looked up to, his new leader, hated him and thought he was a git of the largest kind? He could never ask him for a reference later in life when he was applying to a job at the Ministry, could never ask him for help in classes--not that he needed it, but still. This dent to his record might wreck his plan...

Percy shook his head, forced himself to focus on something other than the stupid Head Boy. "Chris?"

"Perce?"

"Didn't you mention that Penny was supposed to be in our cabin for the trip?" Better to talk about Penny than anything else. She wasn't prefect duties, which avoided the prat comment, and she wasn't Quidditch, which avoided the secret Percy would most likely fail to conceal, and she certainly wasn't grades related, which avoided the plan. Besides, Chris could talk about her all day, and Percy could keep up pretty well with his smitten friend.

"When did I mention that Pen might be here? You know, you landed on page eleven, which is fascinating considering the arithmancy behind the number two--"

"In an owl, and yes, I  _ know _ , Chris. I'm surprised you don't have top grades in Divination, what with how much stake you put into this rubbish."

"Trelawney doesn't like me nearly as much as she does Gertrude Meads, which isn't brill at all, because I'm far better at tea leaves than she is. And hey--you're right! Where is Pen, anyway? She's never late to anything."

"Check your tea leaves?"

"That was just cruel, Perce. Well--should we go look for her?"

"I'd rather not. She can handle herself just fine."

"But can _ I _ ? What if I die here, alone forever, without anyone to love me? What if--"

"Am I rubbish, then?"

"--Pen runs into a dementor who falls in love with her, and they continue to kiss-"

"This is so incredibly likely, Chris."

"--causing the love of my life to lose her senses and soul to someone who doesn't care about her nearly as much as I do? What if--"

"You create a drama club?"

This last remark caused Chris to pause and smile. "That would be splendid, actually. I should talk to Flitwick and set a date that has no relation to Quidditch practices--but only after we save the love of my life!"

"..."

"Percy, Pen's dementor boyfriend will come and find you if you don't join me right now."

One of Percy Weasley's favorite things about Chris Atwater, aside from the fact that he had a near-constant supply of sweets on him and didn't seem to mind Percy's supposed blood traitor heritage or his "grand plan" consisting of twelve O's on his upcoming O.W.L's, was his ability to find the humor in nearly every situation--in the least annoying way possible, while still being one of the sweetest people at Hogwarts. He was fun to trade quips with, which was why Percy responded with a smile and a: "I suppose you're right; a strong dose of sense  _ is  _ needed in this cabin." Besides, it could be a good chance to patrol the train like the perfect prefect he was.

"Brill." And, without another word, Chris vacated the compartment. Percy followed, making sure to puff out his chest so as to better show of his prefect's badge, and to count his steps to make sure there were an even number of them.

She wasn't in a cabin with the other Ravenclaw fifth year girls (of which there was a surprisingly large group), or with the other prefects in the prefect's cabin (which Percy made Chris look into first), or with any of the first years (welcoming them as she was inclined to do).

It was only when they opened the door to the loo and Percy was at 124 steps that they found her. 

Entangled with another boy, who wasn't named Chris and hadn't just been gushing about her dementor boyfriend and his eternal love for her.

Percy quickly slammed the bathroom door shut and began ushering Chris to the cabin, trying to ignore Chris’ sudden and incessant muttering: "She's snogging Timothy Blenkinsop.  _ Timothy. Blenkinsop." _

They reached their cabin. Percy gently helped Chris sit down at 147 steps, which was a number that just as uncomfortable to deal with as Chris’ newfound misery.

"I'll fetch the trolley lady, get some acid pops and licorice wands." Comfort food, which was Chris' go to study and get-Percy-to-get-his-head-out-of-his-ass strategy. It was all Percy felt comfortable doing with a distraught Chris, so he hurried off in the trolley lady's general direction, feeling his soon-to-be-lost coins jangling in his pocket.

The trolley lady was 26 steps away, which was fine on its own, but added to 147 wasn't even. He added in an extra step as he approached, ordering and paying before turning away, arms loaded with goodies. He would have kept walking, too, if he hadn't suddenly locked eyes with a certain someone through a compartment window and immediately lost count.

A certain someone that stepped out of the compartment. And began to walk with him.

"How was holiday, Percy?" That distinct Scottish brague. Percy tried not to let the hot feeling of guilt get under his skin, but he still felt the need to shift the rather expensive goods in his arms. Chris would need to pay him back a bit, after he was back to normal...and Percy needed to leave. Right now. 

"Fantastic,” Percy said briskly, attempting to make his way away from the quidditch player and towards his distraught friend. But it was a rather feeble attempt, seeing as Oliver took up a good chunk of that space in between him and the end of the car. 

“You won’t tell, Percy?” 

Percy sighed, rolled his eyes, and stepped back. “How was your holiday, if you’re so inclined to chat? I didn’t get any of the usual letters from you.” Which was true; they usually exchanged an owl or two over the holidays, and though not as frequent as his correspondence with Penny and Chris, Oliver’s letters had been a nice change from the humdrum desolation of the Burrow.

"I was...busy. With Quidditch."  _ Of course. _

Percy gave him a stern look, imagining himself as Professor Mcgonagall or his mother. "You keep telling yourself that, I suppose."

"You won't tell?"

And that was a breaking point. "What? That you're holding so-called Quidditch League meetings with your lover in your cabin right now? Or--?"

_ "Yes." _

Percy stared at the floor. Caked with dirt and mud from these imbeciles’ shoes. First years could never keep anything pristine. It needed a clean, but this train didn't have a Filch. Which was a terrible oversight: someone needed to maintain order and cleanliness around here, around everywhere. "I won't tell."

By the time he looked back up, Oliver Wood had left, and Percy continued his counting all the way back to the compartment. 

It had felt bigger and warmer when Chris had been as bright and happy as he usually was. 

"We're almost there, Percy.”

And so they were. With a nervous jolt to his stomach, Percy was reminded of the danger of the year ahead of him: a secret that he wasn't supposed to tell, a prat of a Head Boy, a lie he was horrible at keeping, a heartbroken best friend and another best friend who had broken other best friend's said heart, and three brothers that he wished, more than anything, weren't here.

\---

Penelope Clearwater was a proper sort of girl, the sort of girl who never seemed to say the wrong thing, whose nail varnish never seemed to chip, the sort of girl whom one would not expect to find snogging in the Hogwarts Express loo right after a rather dull prefects meeting.

But she  _ had  _ been snogging in the loo of the Hogwarts Express, and she  _ had  _ been found. So, after the door had flown open--only to fly closed immediately after--she had pulled him off of her. He was panting, rather like she was, which seemed disgusting. So she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her Hogwarts robe--she’d changed, right before the unexpected meeting--and stared at the floor for a solid minute before speaking.

“You’re a terrible kisser, Timothy Blenkinsop.”

He smiled, which was quite a pleasant expression for his face when it wasn’t hidden in shadow. She’d noticed it before--the way his mouth seemed to slide up his face, the faint dimple on one pale cheek. She wouldn’t have snogged him if she hadn’t liked at least something about him. “You could teach me?” There was a pause. “Penelope?"

“No. I’m just as bad.”

And that was that; the matter was done. Once Penelope Clearwater made a decision she never went back on it. “Who do you suppose saw us, Timothy?” she managed.

“It was a redhead.” He sighed, like he was expecting her reaction--which wouldn’t have been a surprise, if he had. Because Penelope was predictable, and so when shock ran through her veins like ice water, Timothy Blenkinsop was ready with toilet paper serving as a tissue. Penelope tried to push away her realization as she wiped at her eyes, but the thought kept resurfacing: there was only one redhead who would have been checking the bathrooms, and who would have closed the door. And he was almost always accompanied by one other Gryffindor boy, and that was where the trouble began. 

One of the things Penelope’s mother had told her when she was very young was that girls always know when a boy is in love with them. And over time, she had realized the truth in the statement. In her third year, Timothy Blenkinsop had fallen for her. He had asked her out every week, composed “songs” in her honor that were really just new lyrics set to classic pub tunes. But before Timothy Blenkinsop--and here she looked her housemate up and down--there had been Chris Atwater, who conjured flowers for her and looked at her as if she were the sun and the stars.

And she didn’t want to ruin that, or Chris’ attitude, or anything. Even if Timothy Blenkinsop was a bit sweeter than she had thought before the summer had started, and even if he said nice things about her hair, which hung softly around her face in light brown ringlets, and even if his kisses hadn’t tasted musty or unbearably moist. She was only a fifth year, and a rather pretentious one at that. She couldn’t afford to lose her friends, or her position, or, well, anything.

“You know what I’m going to do, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Timothy Blenkinsop sighed, and ran a hand through his straw-colored hair. He looked like the American ideal of a surfer, she thought, which could have been attractive if it didn’t also look as though grease clung to his scalp. And if she wasn’t going to break up with him.

It had only been a month. A  _ month.  _ Was that cruel?

It was still a summer fling, though, and her aunt marrying his father had been weird enough. He had just been  _ there _ , and so coincidence had struck yet again.

_ Yet again.  _ God, she was a fool.

Timothy nodded. And sighed, and took the toilet paper from her hand to dab at his own eyes. She had made him cry.  _ She  _ had done that. And all at once, Penelope felt very guilty, and very powerful.

He began to talk. His voice was breaking. She was so cruel. 

“If Weasley and Atwater hadn’t seen--” And here was the kicker, that ballsy question that would make her question everything. “--d’you think we might have stood a chance?”

Her mouth continued speaking even as her brain paused. “No. I don’t. We’re too different, and I would have been inclined to keep you a secret.” She stretched a bit. “I don’t like secrets.”

“I’m never going to forget you, Penny.” Which was a bit melodramatic considering they had three years of school left together, but she understood what he meant. He would never forget her like this, with her hair loose and free and her eyes bright and her lips wet from touching his. This Penelope was a new Penelope, and she was a lot of different things than normal Penelope, but both Penelopes shared a practicality that caused her to respond with the efficiency of the Minister of Magic in court.

“You should. It was only a month, and you were a bit drunk and I was a bit tired.” She opened the door. “Please don’t call me Penny, alright? That’s for my friends.” And she stepped outside, but not before she heard his call of, “You mean Weasley and Atwater?”

She smirked, dug her hands into her robe pockets, and began to search for the very two friends he had just named. 

Penelope Clearwater was a very proper sort of girl, and that’s why she liked to think that she had a good head on her shoulders at all times, but in reality, she was a fool, and was playing at a very unfortunate game. 

\--

There was a trunk in a certain compartment on the third car of the Hogwarts Express. It held a dozen files on Quidditch plays for a certain team that was in it for the Quidditch Cup.

 

At 2:13 PM they were stolen. 


	3. 2: On Heartbreak, Oliver Wood, and Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night back at Hogwarts; a conversation with Chris Atwater's head and Oliver Wood.

It wasn’t that Chris Atwater was angry, or upset.

It wasn’t that he was hurt.

He just preferred to go upstairs, that was all. And yes, he was fine missing the glorious beginning of year feast. He was watching his figure, anyway. And no, Percy, that comment about that sounding like your mum was not brilliant at all. 

So Chris Atwater asked Percy for the password, which he had learned during the prefect’s meeting on the train, and headed upstairs, ignoring the Fat Lady’s commentary and the fact that he was running low on Chocolate Frogs. He was fine. Most completely, utterly fine.

The crinkle of paper in his pocket said so, anyway. 

He entered the common room, which was dead silent in a way that it never was during the school year. The only sounds came from a house elf, who was busy dusting off the mantelpiece. “Hullo.” Chris ventured a greeting. “How are you?”

The house elf squeaked, and Chris flushed. “I’m just gonna go upstairs now, I reckon,” he mumbled, shoulders turning in on themselves. And so he did, feet dragging.  
For someone who wasn’t miserable, he was making quite a good job of pretending to be.

The facade lowered a bit when he entered his dormitory, familiar over the four years he’d spent there. This was home, more home than his family’s London apartment just a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. He had a good family with a mother who was at least tied with Mrs. Weasley for warmest person in the world. He had a good group of older sisters that had caused his childhood to be...well, interesting.

But he was the youngest, the runt of the litter. At Hogwarts he didn’t have to be.

Even though it seemed to happen too often. It might have been a little foolish to become best friends with the two smartest people in his year, and although it wasn’t his choice, he couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful that he was not only rooming with the future Head Boy, but the Quidditch Captain as well.   
He was tired of being the runt of the litter.

A burst of energy caused him to immediately take the papers out of his pocket and start poring over them. Quidditch play after Quidditch play after Quidditch Play. He was shocked that Wood hadn’t protected these better; he and Marcus were always at each other’s throats, and would have guarded this with his life last year. What had changed?

It didn’t matter, not when he had this gold mine.

Chris Atwater wasn’t the smartest, or the most fun, or the most anything. He had his friends, and he loved them, but maybe, just maybe, he wanted more.

And there was nothing wrong with that, was there?

\---  
The dormitory was the same as always, only it wasn’t. 

The same beds, arranged the same way, with a boy already asleep on one of them so familiarly--spectacles still on, long arm draped over the right side of the bed--it made him feel a little at home. The curtains were the same too, as were the trunks at the foot of the four posters that were all a bit tattered at this point. 

So maybe it wasn’t different. It wasn’t like he spent enough time here to know. He always found a way to get out onto the Quidditch Pitch at every possible moment. Which he was hoping to do tonight, but he’d forgotten about Coach’s rule of “no Quidditch on the first night” that Marcus broke last year--he was reminded by McGonagall promptly before the Sorting Ceremony, who had every intention of winning both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup.

He had every intention, too. More than her. But they were at a loss after losing Charlie Weasley, who was a damn good Seeker and would actually have been excited for the early morning practices Wood had planned. The rest of the team was solid; the Weasleys were solid Beaters, if a little scrawny for the job, once they got focused and started shutting their gobs. Bell needed to learn to be a little more gutsy and start scoring instead of just doing assists, and Johnson was good out on the pitch, but needed a bit more practice to shape up into a spectacular Chaser. Spinnet was good, just not quite extraordinary. And then there was the broom problem...

A knock on the door. “Are you decent?”

“I’m in Gryffindor, whaddya think?”

“Oliver.”

“No, piss off.” A snitch had somehow appeared in his hands; it was probably still there from last time and he hadn’t picked it up on the way home, by instinct grabbing it as soon as he entered the dormitory and collapsed on his bed. He began to toss it in the air absentmindedly.

“Does that mean yes?”

“You’re a sodding prefect now, does it matter?”

The door opened a crack. Then another. Then Percy Weasley’s head was peeking through the door, looking rather timid for someone who could be such a prat. “Oh. Good. So you are decent.”

Another toss of the Snitch. “We’ve had this discussion twenty sodding times. It doesn’t matter, does it.” The Snitch had gone a little higher than anticipated, and Oliver now snatched it out of the air. “We’ve shared a room for four years now.”

“Right,” said Percy in a voice smaller than the Snitch. “I--I think I’ll just tuck in, then.”

“Really? No late night study sessions?” Oliver stood up. “Historical! Monumental! As important as the founding of the Holyhead Harpies! This hasn’t happened ever!”

Percy’s mouth twitched; the suppression of a smile. “I’m waking up at four tomorrow morning to study.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Naturally.” The redhead moved to his four poster, which was next to Chris’ and across from Oliver’s, and started opening the trunk at the foot of it. Of course Percy would be the first one to be organized, and of course he’d have to do it right now. 

At least he didn’t talk, but for some reason, Oliver wanted him to. Last year had been so awkward. Not being comfortable in his place of planning would ruin everything for the cup.

“The team’s looking good this year, with a lot more practice. I think Spinnet’s doing well, and if your brothers get off their asses and stop joking they’ll be even more solid.”

More uncomfortable silence.

“Gotta find a seeker.”

Percy looked back from putting his robes in the closet. “You know, Chris wants to be seeker.”

Oliver knew. He’d known. Everyone knew. 

“Well, he’ll have to try out with everyone else. It’s a shame that first years aren’t allowed brooms. I bet some rich first year has a Nimbus 2000 somewhere, just waiting to be used.”

“Of course.”

Another pause. Oliver sucked in a breath.

“Are--are you uncomfortable with me because I’m gay?”

Percy laughed, a single harsh sound. “No, not at all. It’s just…” He looked from side to side, as if to check that anyone was listening. “Marcus?”

“Piss off. He’s...nice.”

“I’m sure.” Percy shoved his trunk under his bed. “I’m going to get ready now. Good night.”

There was something about Percy Weasley that left Oliver Wood feeling coarse and raw, like whatever Quidditch polish he had around anyone else had been scrubbed away by a single piercing look or word. In previous years that had been a good thing, but now he felt as fragile as he did after a couple knocks to the head with a bludger.  
It wasn’t that Oliver Wood was scared, or nervous.

It wasn’t that he was apprehensive.

He was just eager, that’s all. The year awaited them like the yawn of a beast, and he was ready to step through the teeth and descend to the belly of the beast.  
“G’night,” he said. And that was that.


	4. 3: On Classes, Quirrell, and First Days

Breakfast was a quiet affair for Percy Weasley. He woke up before the sun and headed down to the kitchens (383 steps, with an extra one added in to be okay)--where he could ask the house elves whether or not his brothers had been down there to be prepared to break up one of their candy experiments--to grab a piece of toast or two and a cup of coffee, then headed to the library to study. First, the wand work, to keep him from falling asleep. Then, the book work, the theory behind the spells. Then another attempt at spellwork.

And that was just the core classes. At night, he worked on Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and Divination. This year was OWL year, and he had to be prepared. 

After a few coffee-stained hours in the library, Percy went back up to the dorm--492 steps--passing a few sleepy students in the common room. He had to wake up Chris, go over their schedules, and get to class (preferably twenty minutes early). Being a prefect, he had some advance knowledge of the new teachers on their schedule. It was all written down in a little book of his, color coded thanks to Penny’s gift of a multicolored ink set last Christmas. 

He shook Chris’ shoulders. The boy groaned. “Chris?” Another groan, another shake. Usually Chris was up by now. Well, it was now time for a bit of charmwork to wake Chris up. The last time he’d transfigured something it hadn’t ended well.

Fiddling with the wand, Percy was reminded of how it had been first through third year. He wouldn’t have had to wait for anyone. He would have gone straight from the library to the Great Hall for a quick breakfast before heading off to class with a pre-memorized schedule. He would have stuffed his bag with food from the Gryffindor table if it had been a bad day so he could avoid talking to anyone. 

Now he looked forward to mealtimes, at least a bit. With a flick of his wand, a steady stream of music flowed out of his wand--classical, which they both liked, and aggressively so, which they both pretended not to.

Chris’ eyes opened sleepily. “Dvorak? I’m in a Vivaldi mood, though.”

“Get up. We have Quirrell and Flitwick today, and I am not facing them alone.”

“But Flitwick likes you. You’re good at Charms.”

“And? What will he think of me if I’m making excuses for you? It won’t be a very productive first day. We have...things to think about. Futures--”

“Is things to think about code for the plan?”

“How about you get up and I tell you?”

“Mmm, fine.” With an excessive amount of stretching, Chris emerged from his cocoon of covers. “It is, isn’t it?” he asked as he tugged his socks on.

“What else would it be? Hurry, we have Quirrell first and simply can’t make a bad impression.”

“I’m going, I’m getting ready, okay? We won’t be late.”

“I don’t aspire to be on time, though, I aspire to be early. Preferably so the teacher can get to know me right before class. We have to hurry! Why do you tie your tie like that?”

“Because that’s how I tie it. Seriously, you go in an hour before class starts and talk to the teacher? No wonder Snape tolerates you.”

“He doesn’t, actually. Hasn’t given me extra credit once. Come on!” And with this final insistence, Percy marched out of the dormitory with brisk steps. Last year, Percy hadn’t had friends on the first day of school. How was one supposed to deal with lateness from a compatriot when you couldn’t account for them?

Four good, even steps later, Chris ran out of the dorm. “You didn’t make it far! Good, good. Do you know the way to Quirrell’s room?”

“Of course I know the way. Come on. I saved you some toast.” 

“That almost makes up for Dvorak instead of Vivaldi,” Chris said, taking the toast Percy shoved at him. “Did you charm this? It’s still warm.” Standing in the staircase, he took a large bite. “Ooo, it’s buttery too?”

“You can walk and eat, can’t you? Hurry!” Robes flying with every proud step, Percy led Chris out of the common room and down to Quirrell’s room.

\----  
“Quirrell was interesting,” Chris said, eyelids falling. “I really enjoyed the text...book.”

Percy jabbed him with his wand. “Get up. We’re supposed to be working on our summoning spells. We’re lucky he gave us today to review, you know. Not everyone will.”

“My money’s on...Minnie.”

“You sound like Fred and George. Accio Chris’ copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five.” Chris gave a yelp as the book he was resting his elbow upon shot into Percy’s hand.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes I did. And I gave you fair warning. You know I can do silent spells very well.”

“You sound like your mum, only more pretentious.”

“You sound like Fred and George.” 

“You said that earlier. Disqualified, bad play.”

Percy set down Chris’ book on their shared desk with a little ‘hmph’. They’d change seats tomorrow; Percy needed to be in a spot for optimal focus, which Chris wasn’t always the best at. “Accio Chris’ Gryffindor tie. Are you ready for quidditch tryouts?”

Chris’ face twitched. His lips bordered on a smile. One of his eyes could have been winking, only if it was it was a very messy wink. “You think you’d be a better actor if you were going to start a Hogwarts theatre department,” Percy mused, opening his Muggle Studies book to brush up on his knowledge. “What will you perform first, Chris’ Grand Secret Starring Penelope Clearwater? Or The Quidditch Misdemeanors Starring Chris Atwater?”

Chris righted himself, startled. “Starring Pen? Not me?” He gasped dramatically. 

“You would give the role of yourself to her.” Percy looked up from his passage on variations in lamps. “Isn’t that how this whole being in love thing works?”

“Not anymore. Not after Timothy. I think I’ll become like you and just work myself to death so I never understand love and live a cold, bitter life alone.”

“Wow, really sentence yourself right there.” He slammed his book shut, having finished the passage on lighting fixtures. “I don’t think it will happen.”

“Oh. You think I have a chance with her?”

“Ha!” Percy put the book back in his bag. “There can only be one Percy Weasley at the top of the class.” He patted Chris on the shoulder as he stood up. “Gotta go.”

And with that, Chris Atwater was alone, leaving him with nothing but a plan to be better than he was.


	5. 4: On Quarrels and Quidditch

Penelope Clearwater considered herself to be many things. Cool and confident, certainly. Intelligent, of course (she was a Ravenclaw, after all). A good friend--what had she done with Timothy Blenkinsop? Done what was best for her and her friends, that’s what.

On top of all of this, she thought that she was rather unflappable, and a rather good guesser when it came to Quidditch game results. She knew that Ravenclaw was going to win their first game of the season, Slytherin had little to no odds, and that Gryffindor had a fair shot for the cup if they could get a decent seeker who wasn’t Chris, and a decent plan that wasn’t modified from last year’s. Which, judging by the odds, wasn’t too likely.

So when the Madame Unflappable walked out onto the Quidditch pitch as a mid-study method of clearing her brain, she was surprised to see a boy in Slytherin robes swooping in a formation she’d never seen before. “Hey!”

The boy swooped closer. Marcus Flint. A pretentious sixth year who wasn’t even near the top of his class. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve reserved the pitch for this end of the evening.” Never mind that Quidditch season hadn’t started yet. She rolled her eyes.

“What formation is that?”

“Why? So Ravenclaw can copy it off us?”

“I’m not even on the team!”

“Still could be a spy.”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“‘Course you haven’t. It’s one hundred percent original.”

“What is it?”

He smirked. “You’re not getting away with that information so easily, Ravenclaw. Now run along and tell your team captain.”

Bewildered, Penelope continued her mid-study walk, trying to puzzle through Marcus and his new formation.  
\----  
“Fuck off, you wanker!” Oliver barrelled towards Percy. “I have to get to Flint!”

“Whoa, hold it!” Percy held Oliver back from the door. “How dare you call me a wanker? I am a prefect!” Oliver’s muscles tensed beneath Percy’s hands, and Percy sighed. “And I suppose...I thought all was going well in lover land, la da da? Kissy in the train compartment. Which is highly inappropriate, you know--”

Oliver’s brow wrinkled. “What…? No! Now get out of the way, I have to find that son of a bitch and--”

“Don’t call anyone a bitch unless they give you an improper grade. Did she?” Percy knew this from personal experience; it was rude to call anyone anything if they had done it to you. Of course, it wasn’t likely that Rose Figg would ever learn such a thing, although perhaps she had learned not to call him a ‘greasy blood traitor trying to compensate’ in public, but it couldn’t be wrong to practice kindness out of spite.

“No.” His jaw jutted out. “Mrs. Flint is very nice. But that howlin’ bampot ain’t--”

“As a prefect and future minister of magic, I simply cannot condone violence. If you engage in it I will find McGonagall to sentence you to detentions. Or Filch, for something even worse. Like a--a bad grade!” 

Oliver strained to get to the door, causing Percy to grunt and move his feet to get a better angle. “Percy! Stop being a nyaff and just let me through!”

“So you can what?” Grunt. “Break how many rules? No--” Grunt. “I do not condone it!”

“You don’t condone anything that doesn’t start with O!”

“No!” Oliver bust through, to the doors. Percy sighed. “At least tell me what the Slytherin did?”

Oliver turned back. Percy sat down on the bed. He could storm out, of course, and it wasn’t like the common room was busy at this time of day. But--“He stole my formation. I spent hours and hours making that thing, and then he just--steals it!”

“How do you know?”

“Missing from my trunk, he was in there with me, Patricia--”

“Penelope.”

“Said she saw him practicing that exact formation!”

“So you’re reporting a theft when Penny knows next to nothing about Quidditch? Dubious. She couldn't distinguish a Hollyhead Harpy from a Chudley Cannon. I wouldn’t pummel him for it, certainly.”

“Right.” Oliver pivoted and stalked out of the dorm. With a yelp, Percy’s wand was out and a spell had been cast.

“Stupefy? Seriously?” Oliver asked after the spell had worn off.

“I will lock you in the Quidditch closet.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll find the wanker later, then. When you’re not around.”

“You should follow the rules even when I’m not around! And I’m always around.” A moment of silence. Percy felt the need to be daring. “Are you going to jump him or pummel him?”

“Why, which would you prefer?”

“Why are you dating him if this has the probability of happening?”

“Because I like how I feel with him.” He stood up. “Until he steals my plays!”

He walked out of the room, and this time, Percy let him go. 


End file.
